


Valentine's Hate

by idiosyncratic_af



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Bitter, Clay - Freeform, Lighthearted, M/M, Neighbors, Valentine's Day, dream - Freeform, dreamwastaken - Freeform, georgenotfound - Freeform, karlnap, light dnf, shouting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:01:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29432820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiosyncratic_af/pseuds/idiosyncratic_af
Summary: Clay and George are neighbors and they’re both bitter and lonely. But maybe they can be bitter, and then a little bit less bitter and a lot less lonely together.Valentine's Day fic!
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Kudos: 14





	Valentine's Hate

**Author's Note:**

> I speedran this bro– I had this sitting in my google docs for like a week but decided to write it the day of... it's midnight for me but still 11:00 am if you're EST so... still Valentine's Day, technically!
> 
> *I'll proofread tomorrow or in the coming weeks, so if you're here the day it's posted or the day after, be warned! probably several typos! but I just wanna get this out there and know that I did something with my day lol

Clay’s walls shook for the fourth time that hour and, this time, Patches meowed in retaliation. _That’s it. Final straw._ “Sorry, baby, I’ll fix this.” A gentle stroke to the top of his beloved cat’s head and he was shooing her into his room. Blowing a small kiss her way as she glanced up with curious eyes, he closed the door softly; then, he was marching back to the shaking living room, jumping up onto his couch, and hitting the shared walls as hard as he could. “SHUT THE FUCK UP.” The apartment stilled for a moment, and then the banging continued– even louder now.

“NO!”

Clay blew an exhausted breath out. This was not how he’d wanted this day to go. February 14 and Nick was out and about, frolicking through the city streets with his new best friend _Karl Jacobs_. “As if you and I haven’t been friends for years, idiot.” Clay kicked his couch. “IDIOT!”

“FUCK YOU!”

And now, to make matters worse, Clay was dealing with an obnoxious neighbor. Funny thing was, Clay hardly ever heard from the man who lived next door who rarely left his house. He screamed a lot at night, but, to be fair, so did Clay. A note was once left on Clay’s door, apologizing for the loud shouts in the middle of the night. Signed George. He had nice handwriting, Clay would concede. He’d seemed nice enough, Clay might say. Not now, though– not when George was making enough of a ruckus to make Patches cower under tables and enough disruption to make a picture of Nick fall to the ground. (Clay was okay with the picture part, since he was still feeling bitter, but messing with Patches? George was _fucked_.)

Clay ran a hand through his hair. “This day _sucks_.” He collapsed onto his chair and threw his head back. “GEORGE. PLEASE. STOP.”

“NO!” And now, to make matters _even worse,_ music began playing and then _blasting_. The sound traveled into Clay’s adjacent apartment and filled his room. “HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT? OH, _SORRY_ , HOPE IT DOESN’T BOTHER YOU ON THIS _BEAUTIFUL FUCKING DAY!”_

“Oh… my… GOD.” George retaliated by banging his fist against the wall, yelling obscenities. “STOP BANGING, OH MY _GOD_.”

“I’M NOT BANGING– THAT’S WHY I’M SO FUCKIN’ UPSET.”

“HOW CAN ONE PERSON BE SO FUCKING BITTER? YOU’RE SO SMALL, HOW DO YOU FIT SO MUCH ANGER–”

“AHHHHHH–” a frustrated scream cut off by a smattering sound and then a quieter: “ow.”

Clay’s ear was against the wall. The music continued and he winced once the singer hit a particularly high note, but he stayed pressed against the cool surface anyway. He didn’t hear anything for a while, and then the music was shut off. Clay sighed again. “Great. Alone.”

Maybe he should’ve checked on his neighbor, but all he wanted to do was sleep the day away. It was finally quiet. That was a good thing. He should’ve felt relieved, right? So why didn’t he? “Today is…” he sighed. Padding across the room to get to his bedroom, he rolled his shoulders and exhaled deeply again. Groaning, he stretched his neck and opened the door. “Today has been tough, hasn’t it, Patches?” She meowed at him from his bed. “And it’s only,” a glance at the clock had his head in his hands, groaning even louder, “noon? You’re kidding.” He groaned louder– _I should be pvp-ing right now–_ and then yelled incoherently. “Fuck!”

“We get it, you’re getting laid! Now can you and your stupid bandana wearing stupid fucking _stupid_ boyfriend _please_ keep it the _fuck_ down?” _Jesus_.

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Well whatever the fuck he is! Shut up!”

Clay didn’t tell him that Nick, in fact, wasn’t his boyfriend and that, in fact, Nick probably _did_ have a boyfriend that he wasn’t telling Clay about. “Nine years of friendship and tradition.” He looked at Patches. “At least I have you.” He crawled onto his bed and pulled her into his arms. She curled up on his chest, and he relished in the warmth she radiated. He fell asleep to the sounds of shouts next door (“YOU STUPID VILLAGERS. NOT ON MY WATCH– STOP– STOP MAKING OUT–”)

* * *

When Clay woke, it was to the sound of a slamming door. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes while attempting to soothe Patches. “Don’t worry, girl, it’s okay.” He craned his neck to the side to check the clock on his night stand. 1:30. He dropped his head back onto his mattress; Patches leaped off his chest and made her way to the living room.

The slamming door seemed to be it, which was nice. No more loud music, much less shouting. Somewhat quiet. Clay slouched into his couch and flicked on the TV. _Definitely not bitter about being alone on Valentine’s Day_. “Nope, not me Patches.” The cat slinked toward the other end of the couch and curled on a too-fluffed pillow. “Oh, come on.” She seemed almost sly. That was the spot Nick always sat in, the pillow he always clutched, especially on Valentine’s Day where the best friends would start the day with action movies and video games and end it with rom-coms and tears.

His neighbor’s front door slammed again. Clay instinctively checked his phone for the time. 1:37. “What is he–” It opened and closed again. He contemplated shouting through the walls and asking his neighbor what the _fuck_ was up, but decided against it– the door slammed again. “That’s it. That’s it, Patches. I’ve had enough of his bullshit. You have too, haven’t you? Just wanna– mope. In peace.” Clay’s shoulders throbbed, and his neck hurt, and his back ached, and he was _upset_. Stomps echoed throughout his apartment as he marched to his front door. He spun on his heel to face Patches. “He’s making me do this, you know that right?” She licked her paws and buried her face into Nick’s pillow. “He is. He is, and he’s going to–” he stammered, shaking his head helplessly at the cat lounging on her orange pillow. “Yeah, he’s going to… have a happy fucking Valentine’s Day alright.”

The lock turned and _clicked_ when Clay’s fingers told them to do so, and then the hallway’s stale air greeted him. He stepped out, bare feet against his scratchy _Welcome!_ mat that hadn’t actually seen anyone but him and George in days. His hair rustled, another streak of light fell onto the cold linoleum, a breath was caught in a throat.

“Oh. Hello.”

“George.”

“Clay.”

George’s hair was messed, the brown strands sticking up in all different directions, clumping together and standing when it shouldn’t. His bloodshot eyes carried dark bags beneath them and his nose and cheeks were flushed. His sweatshirt was rumpled and the back of it was tucked into his pants. The grease stains and chip dust were clear indicators as to what he’d been up to: not much. His distressed state was almost enough to curb Clay’s frustration with him. Almost.

“Hi.”

“Hi–”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” And then Clay slammed _his_ door, leaving a stunned George behind. He swiftly locked it and let his head fall against the wooden surface behind it. Blood rushed through his ears and his breathing quickened.

This was fine, this was fine. Pretty good basically-first-impression. _Fuck_. Had Clay ever properly spoken to his neighbor? He remembered helping him with bringing a box up the stairs when the elevator broke… recalls keeping said elevator’s door open when it was fixed… probably said ‘good morning’ four or five times… How long had they been neighbors for? Two years?

“Fuck!” George had slammed his door shut again, louder than previous times. Huffing, Clay muttered under his breath, breathing quickening, heart rate picking up. “Two can play that game.” Hastily, Clay’s front door was unlocked, flung open, and kicked closed. “Happy Valentine’s you fuck!”

* * *

1:59. Clay’s back was against his door. “George?” His voice was hoarse.

“Yeah?” George’s was too.

“Why were you slamming your doors and shit?”

“Why were _you_ slamming _your_ doors and shit?”

“Because you were first.” George scoffed loudly in response. “Now answer my question?”

“‘Cause it’s Valentine’s Day?” He stated it like Clay was stupid, phrased it like he was wondering how Clay was so idiotic as to not already know the answer.

“Yeah, but like… why?” A noise of disgust. “George. Is it just ‘cause you’re single? That’s not– that’s not a reason to trash your apartment.”

“Who says I was trashin’ my apartment?”

“The sounds of glass shattering.” George hummed his defeat, which Clay barely heard through the walls. Clay chuckled, then scratched the back of his neck, clearing his throat. “How’s the uh, hand, by the way?”

“What?”

“You broke something and then you said ‘ow’. Thin walls. Is–”

“My foot. I hurt my foot.”

“Is it alright?”

“Probably. I’m not sure. I pulled all the glass out, I think, and then I cleaned the wound.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. Still have my foot. Whoo.” Clay breathed a light laugh.

“So… the anger, it was just–”

“Can we please just drop it?” George groaned his disapproval at the probing. “I don’t wanna talk about why I was throwing such a hissy fit.”

“So you agree it was pathetic.”

“I never said it was _pathetic–_ ”

“But it was.” Clay laughed. George whined.

“I’m just a bitter soul, okay? Sue me.”

“Seemed like there’s more to it than just being bitter.”

“Maybe I was stalking my ex-girlfriend and she turned out to be getting married.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh.’ Glad, uh, glad you and your…”

“What?”

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Clay had temporarily forgotten that George thought Nick was his boyfriend.

“Oh, no. He’s just my best friend. Who ditched me to hang out with his actual boyfriend. I think. I’m not sure, he hasn’t told me yet and… I’m not one to pry. Not with him at least.” Clay sighed. “He’ll let me know when he’s ready.” His throat was tight, it hurt to swallow. His eyes burned.

“Clay?”

“Yeah?” A vice gripped his heart.

“I can’t– sorry, I can’t hear you…” Clay laughed weakly. “Do you want to… do you wanna come over?” A heavy pause. “Or just– open our doors and sit–”

“Yeah. I’ll go over. Or uh. Do you wanna… come here? Like, I’m assuming your apartment’s got like–”

“Loads of food. I mean, yeah, shattered glass and stuff, but I ordered a bunch of food. There’s pizza, Chinese, sushi, a bucket of chicken. I got a bunch of Denny’s–”

“I hate Denny’s.” The wall didn’t respond. “But pizza sounds good.”

“Good.” Clay’s forehead was sweaty. His hair was matted. His eyes were probably red– his nose, cheeks, and ears too. His racing heart had not slowed down by much in the past few minutes, but his chest felt a bit more open, and his head felt a little clearer. “So… are you gonna come over or what?”

“Oh. Yeah.” His knees popped as he stood and his legs protested when they had to straighten and carry his weight. A groan escaped his lips. _How long were we slamming our doors shut for?_

Patches eyed him from her perch on Nick’s pillow. “Yeah, you stay with the traitor. I’m kidding, I’m sorry, I love you, I’ll be back soon, okay? Okay. Bye, Patches.” And then he was in the hallway. He glanced to his left and–

“Hello.” Clay blinked at George.

“Hi.”

“Ready to… eat?”

“Of course.”

He followed George into his apartment and then clutched his chest as a heavy wheeze escaped. “You– bitch, you seriously live like this?”

“What the fuck!”

The apartment was a mess. His dining table could barely be seen under a pile of pizza boxes, their content sliding out into a cheesy pile on the wood floor. The curtains were drawn shut and the room smelt overwhelmingly like cinnamon and cheese; Clay spotted a burning candle in the corner of the kitchen. And on the coffee table, as promised, a shit ton of food. Candy apples, chocolate strawberries, a smushed cake that still looked delicious. A bucket of chicken– “Get that Denny’s out of my sight.”

“Okay, okay. You really hate Denny’s, don’t you?”

“Eh. Food’s actually not too bad, but I witnessed a robbery in one, so their food just leaves a funny taste in my mouth now. Now get it out of my sight.”

George dutifully crossed the minefield of cupcake wrappers, plastic bags, and, of course, glass. He grabbed the stack of Denny’s takeaway boxes and made his way to the kitchen. Clay took a moment to take in his surroundings. The couch was mostly cleared of the surrounding trash, so he took the liberty of sitting down. The TV screen in front of him was huge and he couldn’t help but think about how last year he and Nick had cried to _10 Things I Hate About You_.

“George?”

“Yeah?”

“You got Netflix?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna– can we watch a movie?”

“Yeah, sure. Want anything to drink?”

“Bleach.”

“I only have water and Dr. Pepper.”

“Dr. Pepper then.”

“Okay. And help yourself to some food. I have–”

“A lot. I can see that.”

2:03. George dropped onto the couch next to him; he passed Clay his drink. He took it. He also ignored the involuntary shiver that ran down his spine. “Thanks.”

“No problem. So. Movie?”

“I’m not sure. Feel like watching a rom-com or a horror movie.”

“Something with lots of death.”

“Horror movie it is.” George grinned at Clay with a mouthful of food. “That’s disgusting.” George shrugged his shoulders.

“Who am I tryna impress? No one. It’s Valentine’s Day and I’m alone, so might as well enjoy the benefits.”

“You’re not alone.” George side-eyed Clay and then leaned back, stretching like Patches often did on sunny afternoons under the sun.

“Guess not. But I’m still single. So…” He scooped a bunch of pizza into his hand and shoved it into his mouth. He smiled. “Pizza.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Doesn’t matter. Now pick a movie–”

“You’re spitting _all_ over me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means… it means…” Clay laughed. “Whatever, just find something.” George threw the TV remote at Clay and laughed when it hit his chest, eliciting a grunt. “Something scary.”

“So you can hold onto me?”

“So I can scream and spit my food onto you.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“An idiot who’s sharing his food with you– and who you’re spending your Valentine’s Day with.”

“Only because I have no one else.”

“Well same here. Otherwise I wouldn’t have offered you come.”

“You _asked_ me to join you. Practically _begged_ –”

“I hate you.”

Clay took a deep breath, taking in the stench of fast food and burning candles trying their hardest to smother the greasy smells. He closed his eyes and felt himself sink into the couch. His phone buzzed in his back pocket. He wanted to ignore it but–

“Your phone’s buzzing a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna check it?”

“... Yeah.” He reached back and grabbed his phone. The bright screen glared at him.

 _12 new texts from sapnap_.

_hey buddy I have a boyfriend lol_

_it’s karl_

_from the candle store_

_sry I ditched you this v day but karl helped me pick out some movies for us to watch_

_just you and me_

_netflix kinda busted and doesn’t have atla anymore so we got dvds_

_love you more than anything_

_I’ll kill karl if you ask me too_

_see you later tonite dreamy_

_good luck with being single lmao_

_jk ur my number one forever uk?_

_love you fr brother_

“All good?”

“Sorry?”

“The notifications. Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Actually? Yeah. Everything’s alright.” George hummed, nestling further into his crusty sweatshirt. “Hey, George?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy Valentine’s.”

“Happy Valentine’s, Clay.”

2:14.

**Author's Note:**

> happy valentine's, pals! hope you spend it with those you love! and even if you're alone, you are someone worth loving! so you are spending it with lovely individuals!
> 
> all authors appreciate comments, but don't feel pressured to give them! thanks for reading! muuuAAHHHH!!!! <3


End file.
